


Triggering Back

by Oodles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oodles/pseuds/Oodles
Summary: The Widowmaker reflects on a past life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was for Overwatch Secret Santa! My prompt was 'something transfomative' having to do with Overwatch ladies.

My name is Amélie Lacroix.

I must have said it a thousand times to the agents who stole me out of my own bed. I was taught to default to that, if someone ever tried to get information out of me. Say nothing but your name. I was no soldier, no scientist, merely a civilian. They thought the chances of something happening to me were slim. Overwatch gave me basic training. It failed me in spectacular fashion. 

The memories from my time away are hazy at best. But I remember one thing clearly: the weight of a sniper rifle in my hands. Through the drugs, the experiments, the conditioning, that gun was somehow a comfort. It brought me back to a specific time. Not to my husband or my family. No, it brought me back to you. 

I had been crying. Another fight with Gérard. Things had been tense for a while. All he did was spend time in meetings and in the field. He was overworked. We hadn’t gotten dinner together in weeks. It was all I asked.  _ Gérard, it is only dinner. You must have time for one dinner with your wife.  _

I left our home in a fury. It quickly spiraled into sadness. I wandered the halls of the headquarters, fighting back tears, when I ran into you. In that moment, I hated Overwatch for what it had done to my marriage. 

“Amélie,” you said, concern etched into your face. “Are you well?”

I folded my arms, angled away from you, and clucked my tongue. I spoke in French that I was in no mood to discuss it with one of you.

“Perhaps you could discuss with a friend, rather than an agent,” you said. 

I sighed. “Of course you speak French.”

You smiled. “One of my many talents. I am also a skilled listener, but that is up to you.”

I stared at the floor and let my breath out. “I do not want to talk. I would like a distraction.”

You nodded. “I can do my best, if you like.”

“Don’t you have talon to kill?” I did not want to be cheered up by you.

I could see these words affected you, and I regretted them immediately. 

“Not today,” you said, some of the brightness having left your face. 

“Fine, then. What do you suggest?” I asked. 

“Come with me,” you said with a wave of your hand. 

I followed, despite my reservations. Every time I had ever seen you, you wore a smile, whether with your daughter, or discussing field operations with my husband or Morrison or the like. I always envied your easy-going attitude. You had a laugh like music. But then I remembered your job. I wondered how many people you had killed, and how hard it might be to put that lovely smile on every day. I could not imagine killing anyone. 

Not yet. 

To my deep surprise, you took me to a shooting range. 

“Shooting takes every ounce of your focus,” you said to me. “Especially sharp shooting. Would you like to try?”

I stared at you. What a strange way to comfort someone. “Yes.”

You retrieved your own rifle, showed me how to hold it, where to aim, how to shoot. The gun was so foreign, the noise deafening, and I remembered something Gérard had said to me long ago.  _ I do not want you to be part of Overwatch. Let me do the fighting. Stay clean.  _

“Gérard would kill me if he knew I was here,” I said to you. 

You laughed. “He can take it up with me.”

“He very well may.”

Your own smile drew one out of me. You adjusted my grip on the gun and nodded your approval. “A natural.”

_ Natural.  _

_ Stay clean.  _

\--

They tried many weapons with me. It was the sniper rifle they went with. I should blame you. 

I was a zombie, a shell. For a month, they molded me into something new. Perhaps it was the fights with Gérard, or my animosity for Overwatch, but they were able to rewrite my very brain. They gave me skills I never had, and they put a switch in my mind, waiting to be flipped. 

Then, they released me. 

Overwatch found me wandering the streets of Paris like a lost child. I do not know why they left me in my home city. I had no memory of what happened, only a blank spot in my head where it should have been. The first thing they did was bring me to headquarters and check me for injury. There was nothing wrong with me, save for an unexplainable growth in muscle mass. I felt it, a vague ache in my arms and legs. I did not remember that they made me stronger. 

Gérard met me outside the hospital wing, and he gathered me into a hug, but I was oddly numb. I hugged him anyway, glad to be somewhere familiar again.

“What happened, my love?” he asked. 

“I do not know,” I told him. 

He was dead two weeks later. By my hand. 

\--

We met more than once in the old days. I came to you when I was lonely. You allowed me to practice with your rifle. You offered innocent conversation. It took me a while to realize you were not pushing me. 

I broke down when I could not stand dancing around the subject any longer. 

I had made a particularly impressive shot for the rookie that I was, and you gave me such a genuine smile. You put your hand on my shoulder and said, “Amazing work, Amélie. Gérard should be proud.”

“Gérard should be a lot of things.” The touch got to me. He had not touched me in too long. I closed my eyes and leaned toward you, unable to stop the tears. You held me there for a while without speaking, letting me choose when to break the silence. You pet my hair. 

“I do not wish to talk here,” I said. 

“Come with me.”

You led me outside, onto the roof. You dismissed the idle agents who were up there and we stood by the railing and stared out at the expansive base. 

“I have not been to the city in a long time,” I said. 

You nodded and leaned on the railing. Your long dark hair caught the wind. “We could go sometime, if you like. Fareeha always likes to go.”

“Gérard used to take me out once a month.”

“I don’t want to step on your tradition,” you said. “It was only a suggestion.”

“I would like that, I think,” I answered. “Perhaps you would allow me to spoil your daughter.”

You chuckled, and I appreciated the ability to make someone laugh. “You may try your best. She is not usually so interested in material things.”

“She takes after you more than you like?” I asked. 

You looked out toward the heart of Geneva in the distance, and you sighed. “I wish she could have a normal life. I hate to raise her in this place. Not that she isn’t happy, she is. She has adopted this place as her home, and these people are her family. I could not be more grateful for everyone’s help in making her comfortable. But… though I am proud of her, I wish she could have gone to a normal school. I wish she could have friends her age. I wish a lot of things for her, but she will follow her own path.”

“A strong-willed girl?” I asked. 

“Much like you,” you said. 

I looked at you. My gaze went to the eye of Horus, the symbol of protection you wore below your eye. I had not thought of myself as strong before. For some reason, I believed you. 

\--

I do not know anymore if it was strength or weakness that turned me into the Widowmaker. 

When I awoke beside Gérard that morning, and that switch flipped, I killed him in our bed. I killed him and I walked away. Talon was there to meet me and they finished their job.

My name was Amélie Lacroix. I am no more. 

\--

Our first trip into the city was lovely. I felt like I was breathing fresh air for the first time in months. Your daughter warmed my heart. The two of you were delightful company. We walked the streets, weaving in and out of shops like tourists and I insisted Fareeha pick something out for me to buy her.

“Miss Amélie, you don’t have to,” she said, a bit shy. 

I touched her hair and smiled. “Allow me the kindness, chérie.”

She smiled. “Alright. I want a coat like yours.”

“Consider it done,” I said. 

I loved giving her things. I understood her, a civilian in a military base. And you were so happy to see us bond. As I gave Fareeha a coat to try on, you put your hand on my shoulder again and thanked me. I found myself wanting to lean toward you again. No matter how strong you thought me, you would always be stronger. I wanted to be held up by someone again.

“You could make a good mother one day,” you said.

I laughed. “Perhaps I will simply adopt this one.”

You grinned at me and it was contagious. “Fine, but I take the weekends.”

“I will spoil her rotten.”

“Someone ought to,” you said. 

Fareeha turned to us, spinning in a beautiful coat, and I clapped for her. I felt a part of something. I felt warmth. 

\--

We returned Fareeha to the base and you and I went back to the roof. It had become our place. I asked you something that had been burning in my mind. 

“Do you fear dying?”

You kept your gaze on the city. “Yes. Of course.”

“And yet,” I started. 

You smiled. “I leave time and again to put myself in danger.”

“I will never understand you soldiers,” I said. 

You set your chin on your fist. “I don’t know if I understand it myself.”

I leaned beside you and stared at you. You were quite beautiful, though I was sure you did not care. Still, I allowed myself a moment to appreciate. It was something I used to do with Gérard when he would leave for a mission. A picture to hold in my mind, just in case. 

\--

Germany. Overwatch had discovered a talon base. They dispatched me to take out as many of your agents as possible. Jack Morrison was my main target, but of course he evaded me. I took out many others though. Every time I pulled the trigger, I felt a tremor in my chest. A spark. Another life was mine. 

A shot came in through my perch, and I fled. The shooter followed me. Bullets pierced the stone at my heels. I spotted a safe place, and swung in wide on my grappling hook and dove through the window, turning to take aim. The next shot was waiting for me though, lined up perfectly to predict my movement. It hit my helmet, exposing my face. That was something talon had drilled into my head– do not reveal your face. I was angry. I spun around and faced the direction of the bullet with my scope. 

When I saw your face, alive with shock, I knew I had one shot. So I took it. 

When I returned to base, they congratulated me. 

_ It’s not Jack Morrison, but you managed to kill their top sniper. Ana Amari is dead.  _

Of course, I knew the truth. 

\--

I began to suspect my company had run it’s course when you made yourself scarce. We went a few weeks without our usual meeting, and I asked if you were away on a particularly long mission. The answer was no, and so I sought you out, needing to know if it was me. I needed to know if I’d soured something between us. 

I found Fareeha in the rec room one day watching a movie. She seemed happy to see me which was a relief. 

“Hello chérie,” I greeted her. 

“Miss Amélie,” she beamed. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“Bored, Miss Fareeha. Perhaps you can be my date tonight.”

“Mom would like that,” Fareeha nodded. “She’s been so busy. Where are we going, then?”

I leaned on the couch beside Fareeha. Something about her face, a soft echo of yours, made me want to take care of her. 

“How about my place? I have not cooked a meal for someone in ages.”

She grinned. “Ah, I didn’t know you could cook, Miss Amélie.”

“Tell me what you like. Maybe we can make it together?”

“Let’s surprise mom,” she said, eyes bright. 

“I like this plan. You should leave her a note instructing her to find us.”

Fareeha nodded. I touched her nose and sent her off after giving her directions to my home on base. I had Fareeha measuring ingredients while I chopped vegetables. She asked me a million questions about my past. I enjoyed her company, truly. She told me about how she was going to join Overwatch when she was old enough. She talked about two recruits who joined at age seventeen. She hoped they would let her join early as well. 

“Don’t tell mom,” she said quietly. “I know she doesn’t want me to join.”

I smiled. “She wants you to be safe, but she knows you will do as you please when you are old enough.”

“What do you think?” she asked me. “Do you think I’d be good?”

I smiled at her, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I think you will do well in any job you choose.”

She sighed. “That’s just the answer adults give when they don’t want to give you a real answer.”

This made me laugh. “Fareeha, darling, if I tell you to join Overwatch and your mother finds out, I’m afraid we won’t be friends anymore.”

Fareeha shook her head and returned to her task. “No, mom likes you a lot. She wouldn’t be mad.”

This comforted me greatly. “I also want you to be safe. However, I want you to love what you do. If Overwatch is what you love, then you must pursue it.”

I saw her smile out of the corner of my eye. “Thank you.”

When you arrived, you looked exhausted, but that smile came back so easily. “My favorite girls, making me dinner. I should be so honored. What is the occasion?” 

I turned to you with a dish of bacheofe in my hands as I had done a million times for Gérard. It was surreal–your daughter running to finish setting the table, you taking your hat and coat off, as if we were a real family. I wondered for a moment if I loved you. It brought color to my face and I looked down at the stew. 

“We wanted to surprise you,” Fareeha said, sitting to the left of my chair. “You’ve been so busy. We missed you.”

I looked up again to see you kiss Fareeha on the top of the head. She shied away, though she smiled. I knew she must have felt too old for such a show. I set the food down and you came to my side and hugged me with one arm around my back. 

“Are you okay?” you asked in a whisper. 

“I am now,” I said, which was the truth. 

You pulled away, though your hand lingered on my waist, and then you took your seat. “Thank you, Amélie. It smells divine.”

Dinner was so nice, the nicest in ages. After the meal was done, you sent Fareeha to bed and stayed with me. 

“Gérard is away?” you asked. 

I nodded. “I have no idea when he’ll be back.”

You moved closer to me, set your hand on the table, and then maybe thought better of something. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked. 

“Sure,” you answered. 

I poured us two glasses and asked you what you had been so busy with. You eyed me, internally debating whether or not to tell me. The eye of horus stared me down.

“I know, I’m a only a civilian,” I said. “Not to be trusted with top secret information.”

You smiled and tapped your fingers against the wine glass. “Very secret indeed. I have been working on something. It is… a weapon of sorts. But also not.”

I quirked my brow at you. “So forthcoming.”

You rewarded me with your low laugh. “I want to create a rifle that can both heal and harm.”

“How can that be?” 

“If we can somehow use the technology from the biotic fields, I think there might be a way. We’re still working it out. The trick is determining the difference between friend and foe in the moment.”

“Engrossing work, then?” I asked, folding my arms on the table.

You took a sip. “I feel this wine is just what I needed.”

We drank too much, it’s true, but I had fun with you that night. We sat outside even though it was too cold, and you told stories of your fellow agents, young and old. You also spoke to me about Fareeha’s father. Not a bad man, he died in the field. You said you did not miss him, that you were never married and hadn’t even planned on it, but that Fareeha was the most wonderful thing he had given you. 

“Is it strange to say that I love watching you two together?” I asked.

You shook your head. “Hm. I don’t think so. I don’t find it odd anyway. It is endearing. I am so glad you two get along. Do you think… if anything ever happened to me…?”

You did not need to finish that sentence. I linked our arms together and rested my head on your shoulder. “Of course.”

You put your arm around my waist. We stayed like that for a long time. 

\--

I know you are alive, Ana. 

I made it so. 

You hesitated, but I took my shot. Right through your eye. I left you alive. I saw your face and I saw Fareeha and I saw myself. I felt warmth. So I decided to give you a chance.

And yet, you vanished. 

I left that mission and I heard of your death and I thought you a coward. The only person who knew my identity had vanished. It should have been a good thing. It certainly made my new job easier. For years, I served Talon and I watched Overwatch tear itself apart. Your absence made it easier. Without you, there was no one to keep Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes from their grand crescendo. 

I went looking for you in the lull that followed Overwatch’s fall. I thought that I might finish the job. After a year I could not find you, but the next best thing presented itself. Fareeha. 

Captain in the Egyptian army. A woman to be proud of. With no Overwatch to join, she found her own way, her own cause. I stared at her from the scope of my rifle at the eye of Horus tattooed on her face. A tribute to you. For a moment I thought I understood. Without you, Fareeha could do what she wanted without judgement. She would be free. 

\--

On an unusually warm day at base, you and I walked through the city at night. We went to Bastions Park and pretended we cared about the scenery. When we found a quiet place to sit, you held your hand out to me and I gladly accepted your arm around my shoulder. You were warm, as always. I had come to depend on that warmth. 

My head rested on your shoulder. Your free hand reached for mine. We did not speak but we understood. You ran your thumb across my knuckles, and I breathed in deep. 

We would support each other no matter what.

“Maybe…” I said quietly. 

“No rush,” you answered. 

\--

You are alive and hidden away. I am barely alive at all. Still, I think of you.

I wonder about the day we will meet again. I wonder when you will catch me in the sights of your biotic rifle. I wonder, when you shoot, will I be your friend or your foe?

Tell me Ana.

I grow impatient for a bullet through the heart. 


End file.
